“I never noticed it, and ’tis like nobody else would.”
“They might.”
“Then why not wear the gray one on Sunday as well? ’Tis as pretty as the blue one.”
“I might make the gray one do, certainly. But it isn’t so good; it didn’t cost half so much as this one, and besides, it would be the same I wore Saturday.”
“Then wear the striped one, dear.”
“I might.”
“Or the dark one.”
“Yes, I might; but I want to wear a fresh one they haven’t seen.”
“I see, I see,” said Dick, in a voice in which the tones of love were decidedly inconvenienced by a considerable emphasis, his thoughts meanwhile running as follows: “I, the man she loves best in the world, as she says, am to understand that my poor half-holiday is to be lost, because she wants to wear on Sunday a gown there is not the slightest necessity for wearing, simply, in fact, to appear more striking than usual in the eyes of Longpuddle young men; and I not there, either.”
“Then there are three dresses good enough for my eyes, but neither is good enough for the youths of Longpuddle,” he said.